Infection
by Lif61
Summary: Jack gets hurt, but thinks his dads are too busy to deal with it, so he keeps it to himself, leading to dire consequences.


**A/N: Written for one-word whump prompts on tumblr: infection.**

 **To the guest Katy: I understand Castiel could've healed him, but the person who sent me the prompt wanted all of TFW taking care of him, and that wouldn't have worked as well if Castiel had healed him. I feel like Jack would be really stubborn about not wanting his father to waste any of his energy on him either.**

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It was easy to ignore the shallow knife wound near his hip that wrapped around to his back. Jack just didn't hurt that much from it, so he didn't tell his dads. He put some gauze and tape over it like he'd seen them do before, and continued to go on with what he was doing.

Sure, he was a little sore, and it stung a bit, but he was okay. Besides, his dads were so busy trying to figure out what Michael was up to that he figured he'd keep it to himself. They didn't have time for him.

He continued hunting, continued training, and he was sparring with Dean when he first realized there was a problem. He felt too hot, wanted to take his shirt off, and it wasn't at all from working out. Something was wrong, but he pushed through it, trying to keep up with the blocks and punches.

He missed a block, and his dad hit his side, just above the wound. Jack let out a wordless shout, and collapsed onto the mat, curling up.

"Jack?" Dean cried, already on his knees beside him, trying to move his hand away so he could look.

Jack resolutely kept his hand where it was, in too much pain to be cooperative. He felt warm and achy.

"Jack, I need you to move your hand away, so I can look, okay?"

He swallowed roughly, and then nodded, shuddering and tensing as Dean moved his hand away from the wound. He lifted up his shirt, and then he was taking the tape and gauze off.

A putrid smell met Jack's nose, making nausea curl through him, and he groaned.

"Oh god," Dean got out. "Kid, you should've said something."

"You… You were busy," he explained.

"Come on, let's get you up. Gonna get you over to the infirmary."

Jack groaned as Dean helped him to his feet.

"Sam! Castiel!" he called to his other dads as he helped him through the bunker hallways. "Guys, Jack needs help!"

Those words seemed to summon them immediately, his other dads coming running from wherever they had been. Sam's hair and skin were wet, and he was only in a t-shirt that had yet to be straightened out.

"What is it?" Sam asked taking Jack's other arm, helping him walk.

Jack felt dizzy, and the infirmary started to seem too far away. Heat radiated out from his side, burning, making his head ache.

"Jack's hurt. The wound got infected."

"I'll heal him," Castiel offered.

"No," Jack groaned out, not wanting his father to waste any of his Grace on him. He said what he'd heard his dads say a million times, even when it wasn't true: "I'm fine."

They got him over to the infirmary and lay him down on a bed. Castiel lifted his shirt up to examine the wound. Jack lifted his head up, glancing down at it. Yellow pus was oozing from it, and it was tinged green around the edges.

"You're sure you don't want me to heal it?" his father asked.

Jack leaned his head back and nodded.

"Okay, well we have to clean it out," Sam told him. "It's gonna hurt."

"Alright," Jack said, showing he understood.

Dean got him to sit up and got him a glass of water and a lot of pain medicine, and then Sam was by his side with a bottle of alcohol and a towel. Dean and Castiel each had a hand on his shoulder as his dad poured the alcohol over the wound. It bubbled, pain flaring through him in bright torment, and Jack grit his teeth over a scream.

Sam kept pouring, and Castiel said, "Hang in there, Jack. You're doing great. You're gonna be fine."

Jack reached up his hands, which he was trying to not clench into fists, and his dads understood, holding on, letting Jack squeeze.

Sam continued what he was doing, and then he was pressing all around the wound, making Jack draw his legs up.

"Guys, I think this is worse than we thought."

"God, Jack, you should've told us," Dean groaned out.

They'd already discussed this, so Jack said nothing, just continued to hold on, as Sam pressed at the red hot swelling in his side.

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to scrape some of this out."

"Jack, I can heal you," Castiel offered again.

"No," he breathed. "No, no. Just do it. I'll be fine."

Dean let out a whistle. "You're one tough son of a bitch."

He smiled at his dads even as he felt feverish. "Well I'm getting raised by Winchesters," he told them. "Of course I am."

Castiel's thumb rubbed circles into the back of his hand, Dean caressing his shoulder, as Sam went to collect some supplies. Jack closed his eyes, not wanting to bother looking at what was being done to him.

"Alright, kid. Just relax. Deep breaths," Dean told him.

He breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth, forcing himself to do as Dean said, even as he felt all hot and sticky and gross, panic growing in his stomach.

But he didn't ask Castiel to heal him. He'd already decided that he was going to get through this. He couldn't turn back now.

"Okay. One, two…"

Sam counted, and then there was something wiping at the wound, pressure, then scraping. He felt like he was being cut into all over again, pain searing, stabbing through him. He shuddered, whimpering. Dean put a reassuring hand on his chest.

"Deep breaths," he reminded him. "Deep breaths."

Jack desperately tried to do as he said, but the pain seemed to live in him, in the wound, spreading out through his body in a wave.

Then whatever Sam was using left him, and he was pouring alcohol over the wound again. A screech left him, the cut deeper and more bloody now.

"Can't you give him more pain medicine?" Castiel asked, sounding desperate and enraged.

"Nope. Too risky," Sam added, voice also tense.

Jack opened his eyes, saw that Sam was threading a needle.

"Jack, how you doing?" he questioned.

"'M fine," he groaned.

Sam began to stitch him up, Castiel stroking his shoulder, Dean taking deep breaths with him. Then more gauze and tape was placed over the wound, and a wet towel was against his forehead.

"This'll bring your fever down," Sam explained.

All three of his dads stayed with him as he lay there, waiting for the pain medicine to kick in. In an hour, he felt better, the pain less encompassing, and he found himself relaxing muscles he hadn't even known had been tense.

Castiel lifted up the gauze to check the wound, informing his other dads, "Swelling's going down."

"Oh, thank god," Dean breathed before wiping a hand over his face.

"Next time you're hurt, Jack," Castiel began, "you have to tell us. We don't need you getting an infection again."

"But-"

"No. No buts," Dean argued.

"Jack, we're here for you," Sam said. "I know we seem busy all the time, but if you need us, we'll drop whatever we're doing. Promise."

Jack nodded, and his dads gave him reassuring smiles.

"Okay. Thanks."

Dean clapped a hand to his shoulder: "No problem, kiddo."


End file.
